Hogwarts: The Next Generation
by SnapeisaDinosaur
Summary: Snapes tells Harry more about his history with Harry's father. Now... what does he want from Harry? Takes place somewhere after OotP, eventual HPSS, though Neville plays an important role as well.
1. Chapter 1

"Potter? Have you got a minute or two after class?"

The fact that Snape was _asking_ instead of commanding was in itself enough to make Harry Potter glance up from his notes. His Potions master, a largely disliked, except among students of his own house, wizard with greasy hair and a hooked nose, was standing over his table. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have placed Snape as anxious due to the way his long claw-like fingers clutched at the corner of the table, his depthless black eyes avoiding everything but the stone flags on the floor.

"Yessir. May I ask, er, wh—"

"In my office, Potter, at the bell." His tone the same as usual, cold and dismissive, Professor Serverus Snape swirled his grungy black robes about his body in characteristic subdued dramatic flair, and walked briskly to the front of the room. There he paused briefly, glancing over the shoulder of Draco Malfoy, his favorite student. One of Snape's rare smiles was given to Malfoy, who immeadiately flung his head around to sneer at Harry who was watching the scene with a feeling of confusion growing nervously in his stomach.

It wasn't that he'd never been forced to spend hours alone with Snape in his office for no easily identifiable reason, but this time it sat uneasyily within him. It was the way Snape had voiced the offer, making it truly seem almost like an offer instead of the command it would have to be. Harry shook his head, turning back to his parchment.

"What do you think that's about?" Ron whispered quietly, not taking his glace from the chalkboard at the front of the room from which he was coping the copious amounts of homework the sixth years had been assigned.

"No idea." Harry risked one last glance over at Malfoy's table where Snape was turning to head into his office. Five minutes remained in the class; he decided he could finish copying the notes later off of Ron and started to pack up.

When the bell rang, Harry slowly stood up, shouldering his bag as the tension quickly climaxed in his stomach, paling his face and causing his hands to shake ever so slightly. Ron, noticing Harry's condition, murmered, "What me to stick around? Make sure he doesn't… pull anything?"

Harry smiled, remembering the last time Ron had tried to rescue Harry from dark magic. Besides, everything Hermione was always saying was true, as much as Harry and Ron dismissed it to her face. Snape _was_ a teacher, and wouldn't dare pull anything in Dumbledore's school, not with a student in the middle of a day of classes.

"No, go on to lunch. This shouldn't take long, he probably just wants to mock my essay or something."

Ron looked dubious. "Whatever. See ya."

"Bye."

Harry watched Ron walk out of the classroom, waiting until the heavy stone door had thudded shut behind the last student before he began his slow trek down the aisle to Snape's office.

Snape was sitting at his desk, a Pensieve sitting at his elbows. He held his head in his hands, not noticing at first when Harry came into the room.

"Er… Professor?"

Snape's head shot up. His expression was blank at first, then changed into something unrecognizable by Harry as his wand arm shot out and the sound of the doors to his office locking clanged throughout the stone room.

"Just to ensure privacy, Potter. Have a seat." With another flick of his wand, a chair sprung from the corner, towards which Harry nervously shuffled and then sat.

"What… what is it you wanted to see me about? Sir." The space between them consisted wholly of Snape's metal desk and to Harry it just didn't seem large enough. He tried to scoot back as discreetly as he could, his eyes focused blurrily on the Pensieve on Snape's desk.

Snape tented his hands beneath his chin, his blank black stare boring into the scar on Harry's forehead. When he finally spoke, the words he murmured were so uncharacteristic, so out of place coming from the sallow pock-scarred mouth that Harry, despite himself, glanced up, wide-eyed.

"Harry…. When I think of the amount of stress you're under right now. With… well, you know. You know everything you have to do, all that is expected of you. All that is… dependant… on you." Snape sighed airily, flexing his fingers. "Not the least of which is all the stress and strain pertaining to the second coming of the Dark Lord, yes? The weight on your back because no one will believe you except for those who can't help you. The power you possess…."

Harry stared at Snape; in the back of his mind he heard echoing 'Dark Lord' but he ignored it for the moment. He watched Snape's mouth twist into a deep smile as he moved to finger the edge of the bowl the liquid of the Pensieve was in.

"When I think of this, Harry, I am reminded… indeed, of your father."

Harry stared at Snape. Snape stared back.

"What?" Harry finally asked, his voice cold and biting but weak. Thoughts were racing through his head too fast for him to examine; sweat was pooling in his palms.

"Your father…. Your father too, had so much lain upon him, from the very first year at school. I remember what it was like, it was James this and James that and I won't lie to you, Harry, but I won't be telling you anything you don't already know either. I despised your father for that. I despised him for the power that was bestowed upon him. I didn't understand. Not at first."

Snape paused, reflected. He dipped his wand into the Pensieve, swirling it around, staring intently into it's murky depth before continuing.

"Then I started to talk to him. And I realized, the pressure, the stress he had to live with on a daily basis, the stress that no one else at Hogwarts could even comprehend. Not even Dumbledore, who was just a teacher then. No other students had been enlisted yet, they couldn't understand. The girls thought his gloom was an act, that he was acting lugubrious for charm's sake. No one understood. But I grew too."

Harry was becoming uncomfortable, he squirmed in his seat, running his eyes over the doors that he knew were still locked tight with stronger magic that he even knew existed, as of yet. Snape saw him looking.

"Don't bother, Harry. The doors are locked, you won't be able to open them. Pay attention to me."

It struck Harry that for the first time in the six years he had been Harry's teacher, today was the first time Snape had addressed Harry by his first name. For some reason, this added to the tension.

"James… your father, that is, told me the things he was thinking about. The questions always racing through his mind, swirling around even when he slept, when he pretended to be interested in the girls that always swarmed him after a game of Quidditch during which he still could not relax, and not for the same reasons as the rest of the players. He told me of the uncertainties, the questions he routinely asked himself as to his own adequacy, questions that are perfectly normal but pride kept him from seeking reassurance.

"He told me of his anger, anger at everyone, at himself. Your father was so angry, Harry, much like you, though you display it more, let it out more than your father would usually let himself do. He was angry because he'd lost his childhood, as many children do, but under different, may I say, even more cushy conditions. After all, how many of them had lost their innocence in the midst of beams of the three unforgivable curses, flying from every angle…."

Snape stopped, looked deeply at Harry who refused to meet his gaze and sat instead with his glance directed at a picture just about Snape's desk, of a bog someplace in London, waiting until Snape was done and Harry could go find Ron and eat lunch and just forget about this awkward experience entirely.

"Yes, Harry, you remind me very much of your father. Very much." And again Snape was silent. A few moments passed and Harry couldn't take it any longer, he felt that the period must be almost half over by now. He needed to leave soon if he wanted to find any food left uneaten.

"Your point?" he whispered coolly, cursing himself for the quiet, meek quality of his voice.

"My point, Potter, is that I think you need just what your dad needed."

"And just what did my dad need?"

Snape smiled again, differently this time though, with less malice, less mockery. "Here. Let me snow you."

He moved around the desk and tugged Harry to his feet. They leaned over the Pensieve which Snape spun with his wand, concentrating without expression on his face as they were sucked into the cold grey memory.

_A young Snape paced quietly back in forth in what could have been an empty classroom were it not for the strong fire glowing from a fireplace in the corner of the room and a thick purple couch situated only a few feet in front of it which made Harry suspect that this was actually the Room of Requirement. Snape's featured betrayed nervousness, anxious anticipation. His hair, which Harry knew from observing other memories of Snape around the same age, had been greasy and never brushed properly even when Snape was a student at Hogwarts himself, but now it had been washed and brushed back, slicked down with gel though not to such an extent as to look unclean. He wasn't wearing his school robes, but instead a neat black shirt tucked neatly into jeans which, though they had a small tear at the right knee, were for all purposes cleaner than anything Harry had ever before seen him wearing._

_Snape had been staring at the floor when Harry entered the memory, now his head shot up, his dark eyes wide and sparkling, which was also something Harry had never thought he would see on Snape's pale, acne-scarred face. The door to the room opened slowly and a boy shuffled in quickly, shutting the door fast behind him. Harry gasped to see who it was._

_It was a very cleaned-up looking James Potter._

_Harry's father shuffled nervously into the light cast from the fireplace, glancing curiously into the shadows. "Hey," he whispered tensely when he finally found Snape who had been hanging back, his eyes still wide as though in shock. James' hair was, for once, brushed flat upon his head and his clothes were all pressed and tucked into themselves nicely._

"_James… hey." Snape moved closer, smiling shyly. The two boys stood silently, studying each other in the flow from the fire._

"_You look nice," James whispered, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left._

_Harry did a double take. Were these the same two boys he had seen in Snape's other memories? The same two boys that had taunted each other mercilessly, to such an extent that Harry had felt inclined to cringe on the account of his most loathed teacher ever? How could this be?_

_Snape reached his hand up, it was shaking. Tentatively he used his fingers to push a stray strand of hair out of James' eyes. both boys blushing deeply at the gesture._

"_Don't look too shabby yourself, Potter."_

_They grinned weakly, and then James broke away, walking casually over to the couch by the fireplace. The swagger Harry had come to associate with his dad's young self was back, whatever initial anxiety he had felt about this meeting was backing of._

"_It's freezing in here. Come sit by me."_

_Snape followed James' track, sitting tensely on the edge of the couch. James laughed quietly, looking shyly over at Snape's profile, highlighted by the flickering flames. Harry moved closer to them, caught up in this memory he couldn't believe was real. Just couldn't believe._

"_How… are things going? With everything?" Snape was looking down at his fingers with furtive glances being shot at James, who sighed at the question then scooted closer to Snape._

"_I really don't want to talk about it. All I do is talk about it, it doesn't make it better." He paused, his body now almost touching Snape's. "I've missed you. A lot. I wish we could see each other more."_

_Snape blushed. "I've missed you too."_

_They sat quietly for a few moments, during which time Harry's mind was blank though phrases and images were cataloguing themselves in the back of his brain, waiting to be thought about in a horrified manner later, Harry was sure._

_Harry then caught sight of something else that was so uncharacteristic of Snape he almost couldn't believe it, though at this point he was loosing sight of who Snape really was._

_Snape was moving his hand closer to Harry's father's, slowing inching his fingers closer, then pulling them back. He repeated this a few times before James noticed._

"_Hey, it's okay." James moved his own hand around Snape's closing his fingers tightly around Snape's._

_The fire burned, crackling now, and James moved so he was leaning against Snape, who, after a few seconds of terrified contemplation showing across his face, wrapped his arm loosely around James' shoulders._


	2. Chapter 2

_Okay, so I know it's been almost a year since I put Chapter One up. But I already have Chapter Three written, and I'm working on Four, so there is no way that this could stop here. I promise. So have fun reading, and leave a review if you'd like to see Chapter Three!_

Harry felt a violent jerk above his navel: Back in Snape's office he found Snape, older and returned to normal, back behind his desk, hunched with his back to Harry. For several minutes they stood as they were, Harry's eyes opening and closing rapidly in attempt to prevent he didn't know what from happening. Outside he could hear students gathering outside the dungeon doors, waiting for them to be pushed open and class to begin. From the relatively stress-free sound of the voices, he assumed there were a good number of Slytherins in the group which, after all that had just occurred, he still found himself grimacing at.

"I realize you…. I realize that you need to get to class, Potter," Snape finally said, speaking in a whisper that sounded as self conscious and terrified as the whisper of his younger self had sounded just moments ago. He did not turn around. "Are you okay?"

Stopping down to pick up his bag from the floor, Harry focused on a slight feeling of hunger growing in his stomach. He found himself praying Ron had thought to grab him something, after concluding that Harry would not be making it to lunch.

"Fine," he answered, stepping towards the door separating Snape's office from the classroom.

"I would like to show you more. Of my memories. Of your father." Snape turned his head off to the side, but did not look at Harry. "Please."

Without stopping to think, Harry spoke. "Yes. Okay."

"Tonight?"

Harry nodded, though still, Snape was refusing to look at him, to turn around and face him.

"Tonight."

After dinner, Harry handed his things to Ron and, ignoring Ron's insistent questioning and pleas to go see Dumbledore, he made his way down the twisting corridors of the school to Snape's office. Inside the pocket of his robe, his hand clutched at his wand, shoving deep into the meaty part of his thigh. All day, he had kept his head down and his mind blank. Still, images of his father and Snape, young and quiet, sitting on a couch before a fire kept jutting into his thoughts. It repulsed him, the way car accidents had repulsed him as a kid, or fights between Dudley and his father. He was disgusted, unable to resist going back for more. He hated the memory Snape showed him, and he hated himself for wanting more, desperately.

Opening the heavy stone door to the classroom, he tried to reason with himself, offer his exhausted brain the reassurance that it was just his dad he wanted to see. His father about whom he knew next to nothing, had not seen for years. Over and over again he told himself that he just wanted to hear his dad's voice, that once he could remember it, he would stop going to see Snape, that once he could imitate the way his dad held his head and moved his fingers, he could tell Dumbledore everything.

He knew though, even as he hesitated outside Snape's office door, that none of that was true.

"Potter."

Snape sat at his desk, the Pensive swirling in front of him, his wand lying a few inches off to the side. Harry moved a few steps closer but did not close the door. He felt his breath clench in his chest, and he bit his tongue in anger at the longing swelling suddenly within him, a longing to jump into another memory Snape had of his father.

"Hi," he finally murmured, his voice dry and crackly.

Snape lowered his gaze down to the silvery matter before him and said, "Are you still… alright?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

Minutes of silence. Above him, through the stone, Harry could hear the sounds of the student body shifting. People were coming from the Dining Hall, returning to dormitories or stumbling off to the library or the infirmary or a classroom. A single set of footsteps hurried past the closed door of the classroom, probably a Slytherin taking a little known short-cut to his or her dormitory.

At last, the sense of longing unbearable now, Harry asked, "May I see another… another memory, Sir? Of my father?"

Snape didn't answer at first; finally he whispered into hands folding before his mouth, "Of course. Of course."

Harry closed the office door and stepped closer to the Pensive, then closer, and closer still until he felt the now familiar suction feeling in his stomach, and he was in another memory.

_All Harry could see at first was a mass of dark green cloth, waving and crunching in on itself in a light breeze. As his eyes adjusted to the relative dimness of the room, he realized that he was in the Slytherin dormitory, a window was open, and he was staring up into the canopy over Snape's bed. Snape's fingers were twisting themselves on his stomach; after a few moments he sat up, tensing, his eyes straining frantically to see who it was that had entered from the opposite end of the room._

_Harry's father came into view, dressed in a set of obviously filched Slytherin robes. In his right hand he held his wand, lit up to illuminate his way; in his left he held a book, his own by the looks of it: It did not bear the familiar Hogwarts Library tag._

_Snape stood off the bed. "James." He smiled._

_"Oh!" James started, then returned the smile. He rushed over to Snape's bed and, dropping the book on the night table, wrapped his arms enthusiastically around Snape's shoulders. Harry watched as he turned his head to kiss Snape's mouth, tenderly and with obvious desire._

_They stumbled onto the bed, still entwined in each other. James pushed Snape under him and raised himself up with his arms, grinning wildly._

_"And how are you this fine, fine evening?" They both laughed; there was none of the hesitancy, none of the fear and dwindling shame that had marked the last memory Harry had observed._

_"Good." Snape grinned, blushed, and the sight of Snape's face reddening still startled Harry. He found himself for a moment gazing intently at Snape, forgetting his father altogether. "How are you?"_

_"Good." James fell back on top of Snape, his mouth working furiously on Snape's, his fingers reaching up to tug at the tips of Snape's hair which was, again, uncharacteristically clean. "I've missed you. I can't believe I'm your dorm. I can't believe I'm in your bed. I can't believe I'm with you, finally. Two weeks is too long."_

_The James of this memory contrasted so starkly against the James of that morning's memory that Harry had trouble connecting the two._

_Snape's arms wrapped themselves around James's waist, and his fingers grabbed at James's robe, pulling it aside to tighten around the hem of James's jeans._

_"We don't have long," he whispered. "An hour, maybe a couple minutes more. It was the best I could do."_

Harry felt himself being yanked out of the memory as the sound of James and Snape's breathing began to fill the room. Snape's face wore a look of unprecedented pain and he continued to gaze longingly down into the Pensive, which no longer held any distinguishable images, long after Harry had picked himself up off of the stone flagging.

In the silence, Harry allowed a few things to sink in. His father had once had an affair with Snape. Possibly more than an affair. In this memory, his father had looked older, his body stronger, more muscular than in the previous memory. He was older: the relationship had continued long enough for a substantial growth spurt to hit.

Snape finally spoke. "Are you—" he began, but Harry interrupted.

"That was disgusting." But his voice lacked conviction.

Snape closed his eyes and left them closed when he spoke again, his voice tiny, weaker than Harry had ever heard it.

"But I made him happy. I made your father happy."

Harry clenched his teeth, lifted a foot to vigorously scratch his calf which didn't itch. "I don't—" he began, but he knew he didn't mean it, and he stopped. He wanted to go someplace and cry, but he could not have said why, or for what.

"Of course you care. I would never have shown you these memories if I thought you didn't." There was an edge of bitterness to his tone now. "There is certainly no disputing your disparity from your father though." He paused; what he said next seemed more for his own benefit than for Harry's. "Let's watch the ending of this memory."

Again, the tug, and then the darkness of the dormitory.

_James lay beside Snape; both underneath a heavy black blanket, standard Hogwarts issue. Their clothes littered the floor around the bed, a T-shirt hanging precariously from a post on the headboard. Snape snuggled his face into James's neck._

_"You should probably go," he whispered. Sweat matted his hair and gave his face a healthy sheen unfamiliar to Harry, and probably to Snape as well._

_"What if I don't want to?" James murmured back, his voice easy but with a definite sincerity to his tone. "What if I just stay here… here in your bed. Forever."_

_There were a few moments of silence before Snape finally answered, his voice cracking, "I would give anything… for that to… for that to happen." He closed his eyes._

_James exhaled, closing his eyes as well, and he sat up, bending over Snape. "Hey," he whispered. "Look at me."_

_Snape looked, and for a few seconds all they did was look at each other. The sincerity of the moment made Harry angry, it made him want to cry, to throw himself against the baseboard of the bed and scream, just open his mouth and scream. Anything to break the thickness of the silence his father and his Potions professor were sharing so intimately._

_"Someday," James whispered. "Someday I'll come, and I won't leave. I promise."_

_The two boys sat up, and James reached up to take the shirt off of the headboard. As he pulled it on, he said, "The book is on the table there. Take your time with it; I don't need it until next quarter."_

_"Thank you."_

_They dressed in silence, and then James finally walked down the length of the room to the door. "Goodbye, Severus," he said, and Snape, still standing beside his bed, looked up, wide eyed._

_"Bye, James."_

_James left the room, and Harry was tugged out of the memory._


	3. Chapter 3

_Okay. I know. It's been months. I'm on summer break though, and I have a beta, and… I won't let you down. I promise. (Of course, reviews can only help)_

Harry had trouble sleeping that night, despite the powerful sleeping draughts Madame Pomfrey had been mixing him for the past several months. The potions were designed specifically to target feelings of fear and anxiety, and while some of both were present in him, simple curiosity ruled his thoughts, pushing them to frantic proportions every few minutes. Once, Ron had leaned over from his bed to ask one more time if maybe Harry should go to Dumbledore, an offer Harry had refused vehemently. Ron had long since fallen asleep, though.

At two forty-five, Harry finally succumbed and climbed out of bed, bounding across the dormitory, his tension finally easing a bit as his mind grasped on the haze of what he sensed was about to happen. All night he had been longing to go back to Snape, to see more of his memories, to see his father. The picture that had been formed by those two short snatches _needed_ be developed further, and now that he was no longer denying himself the chance, all he could do was move blindly through the darkness as quickly as he could.

"Harry?"

Caught in a stream of moonlight as he crossed the common room, Harry whirled around, his heart stopping. He hadn't expected anyone to be awake this late on a Wednesday night, not with a rigorous Transfiguration midterm in the morning. But there was someone, someone he couldn't see because the fire had died down, which meant whoever it was slouched down on the couch saying his name had sent the house elves away despite the late October frost forming on the windows.

"What?" he asked tersely, gripping the window sill to relieve some of the adrenaline rushing through his system.

"What're you doing, Harry?" The person sat up, squinting. It was Neville.

He should have known.

"Nothing. What are you doing?" Harry scowled.

"Nothing."

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Harry could see Neville settling back into a cross-legged position, grinning weakly at him as he did so. His hair was tussled; a bleary expression consumed his face. Sighing, Harry walked over to him, catching sight as he got closer of a bruise on Neville's left cheek that hadn't been there at dinner.

"Neville, what happened to your face?" he asked, giving up on the idea that he would get to see more of his father that night, and also on the idea of sleep. He pulled his wand out and flopped onto the couch next to Neville. "Lumos," he muttered.

"Put that away," Neville hissed, covering his bruise with his hand. "Harry…."

"Neville, what the hell?" Harry put out the light and glared at Neville, unsure of what to do, irritated at the position he was in.

"I'm sorry. I just…. It's nothing. Don't worry about it. What are you doing up?" Neville scooted into the far end of the couch and propped his head on his hand, successfully covering the bruise from all scrutiny.

"I couldn't sleep." Harry's voice was hard.

"I thought Pomfrey gave you—"

"Yes, well, they don't always work. It's awfully _stressful_ keeping track of all of you, especially when I can never get a straight answer out of any of you concerning anything." Harry bit the inside of his cheek hard, resisting the urge to go off completely on Neville, as well as the urge to storm out to see Snape. That he'd forgotten his invisibility cloak in the dormitory and the fact that Neville was his Herbology partner for the midterm Friday were the only things keeping him from doing both those things.

"Harry, I'm sorry. Please don't be mad. It's nothing, I ran into one of the knights tonight. Please don't be mad…." Neville seemed on the verge of tears.

"Oh? So why are you still up, at three in the morning? Why is the fire out? Why did you scream when I held a light up?"

"I'm sorry…." Neville said again. Harry felt blood pooling in his mouth as the silence thickened.

"Are you going to answer any of my questions?" he asked finally, picking furiously at a loose string on the arm of the couch.

"I just… I just needed some time to think. And the bruise is just stupid. Not a big deal or anything. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry. It's fine. I'm sorry I snapped."

Both boys grew quiet, staring into the cold blackness where a fire ought to have been. Sitting there, shivering slightly, Harry felt sleep calling him faintly for the first time all night. Seeing more of his father until tomorrow evening was impossible, he had accepted that, and for whatever ridiculous reason, Neville's presence made him feel safe, comforted somehow.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked, feeling that a steady murmur would finally lull him to sleep.

"Nothing. Just… nothing. Trying to figure some stuff out."

"Like what?"

"Um… I'm just… you know. If someone likes me. Someone in particular, I mean. It's nothing."

"Hey, who?"

Neville's casual agony, the easy banter of the problem of girls, settled Harry. If the fire was only lit, he knew he could just nod off right there on the common room couch. Just at that moment a house elf poked his head around the corner.

"Sir? May we make the fire now, sir?"

"Yes," Harry interjected, smiling at the timid house elf who had a fire roaring in the fire place in a matter of moments. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome, sirs, very welcome." The house elf scurried out of the room and silence reigned once more, albeit a much warmed silence.

"So. You were just telling me who the lucky girl is?"

There was an extended pause, during which Harry, as he had known he would, nearly fell asleep, curled up with his head resting on the arm of the couch.

"No one," Neville sighed. "I'm going to bed."

Feeling for some reason he should not let the point go, but too tired to pursue it just then, Harry murmured "goodnight" and fell straight into unconsciouness.

_Alright, I know this chapter was sort of dull, but things are about to get exciting, so just hang in there with me, and don't forget to leave a review!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Harry moved down the corridor, his feet dragging on the cobblestones as the light shining a few feet down the hall blinded him. Beside him was Snape, keeping pace but with much more self assurance than Harry felt he himself had ever possessed, let alone displayed. As they progressed, the light shone brighter and brighter, until there was no light for the absence of anything else. And then it dimmed._

_The source of the light had been a wand, left discarded on the floor just before a bend in the corridor. From beyond the bend appeared Harry's father, at the age he would have been when he died, though the Snape next to Harry was Harry's age, the age he had been in the memories._

_"Dad?" Harry said, pushing the words out as he moved faster, closing as quickly as he could the gap between his father and himself. Snape stopped, and though Harry registered this, he kept going. The few feet separating him from his father seemed to take forever to cross, as though for every step he took his father took one backwards, away from him._

_That was nonsense. He reached his father, stopping a few inches from the man, gaping speechlessly at the man he hadn't seen since the Tournament, and even then only for a few moments._

_"Dad," he whispered. "Dad."_

_"Harry," his father said, his words echoing off the stone walls lining the hallway. "Harry, how could you fall for such trash?"_

_Harry could not understand. He felt himself shiver. "Dad?"_

_"James."_

_Behind Harry Snape moved, coming closer. His hands were shaking, his skin was visibly clammy. James turned his gaze onto him._

_"James, don't—"_

_"Severus, shut up. This is between me and Harry." James turned back to Harry, his face as cold and unforgiving as his voice had just been._

_"Harry, you fell for the trap. You failed."_

_"Dad—"_

_"_No_. Listen to me. You didn't just let down your mother and I, you let down the entire cause. You failed."_

_"Dad..."_

_"Go. Go back with him. You failed; we have no further use for you." James bent down, picked his wand up from the ground, and extinguished the light. Complete darkness fell over the hallway, a darkness that seemed to obliterate everything, every sense and feeling. Harry could not even hear the sound of his father's retreating footsteps._

_"Harry, I'm sorry." Snape's voice cut through the emptiness. "I—"_

_"No," Harry whispered, stretching out his arms to feel his way out of the terrible, freezing corridor. "Shut up. I don't believe this. I don't believe any of this. Shut up."_

_"Harry. Harry." Snape's footsteps accentuated Harry's urgency. "Harry. Harry."_

"Harry. Harry. Harry, wake up. You're late, you missed breakfast. Harry. Wake up."

Harry shot up from the couch. His head throbbed, his fingers were numb with cold. Hermione backed away quickly, holding up a few pieces of toast wrapped in a napkin like a peace offering or a shield.

"Hey there, Harry. What's wrong?"

Harry stood on the rug before the fire, which was blazing, squinting down at his feet. His glasses had fallen off at some point in the night, and all he could see were vague shapes and colors swimming around him.

"Here are your glasses, mate."

Ron came from behind him and handed him his glasses, which he took wordlessly and put on.

"Thanks. Bad dream. Toast for me?"

Harry grabbed the toast from Hermione, flashing her a brief smile of empty gratitude, and checked his watch. He had twenty minutes before he had to be in Transfiguration.

"Damn it," he muttered.

Harry barely made it through the day. The few hours of sleep he'd gotten had done nothing for him, and the nightmare he'd had consumed the few thoughts he had that managed to worm their way through the haze of consciousness. Consequentially, his day had been horrible. McGonagall hadn't excused him from the midterm, looking apologetic but adamant; Flitwick had assigned a forty-two inch essay on… something, that was due… sometime; he'd skipped lunch to finish an essay on fairy politics; and now, after a gruelingly dismal Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, he was finally through, at least until Astronomy which began at eleven.

All through dinner Ron and Hermione attempted to find out about his nightmare, but he dogged their questions, assuring them it had nothing to do with Lord Voldemort or the cause, that his scar hadn't even pricked a little bit. Across from him Neville sat broodingly over his Salisbury steak, his hand stubbornly cupping his bruise.

At last Harry had eaten enough and he excused himself from the table, muttering something about a meeting with Dumbledore concerning a misuse of the Room of Requirement by one of his members.

"At least let me walk with you," Hermione pleaded, concern drawing her brow together tightly.

"No, I need to think. Thanks though. See you all in Astronomy if I don't see you beforehand." Harry pushed his way out of the Great Hall and then made his way briskly down to the dungeons.

Snape was sitting at his desk when Harry entered his office, shutting the door briskly behind him. Lack of sleep and overwhelming desire to see more of his father, evidence that the nightmare had been only that, a nightmare, and not some sort of warning or repudiation, led him to do away with all hesitancy and formalities. That he and Snape had only begun to see each other socially, so to speak, less than twenty-four hours ago was almost impossible to see.

"Harry." Snape's tone was surprised, as he shifted several papers that had been spread out before him into a stack which he shoved quickly into the top drawer of his desk. "Is something the matter?"

Harry's face was flushed; he hadn't realized he'd been walking so quickly, thinking so intensely of what he wished to find now that he was here, alone with Snape again. He pressed his back into the door, willing himself to breathe deeply and calm down.

Snape stood up from his desk and in a few strides was only a few inches away from Harry. He stretched out his hand and held it against Harry's forehead, peering intently into his eyes as he did so.

"Well. Answer me. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Harry lied, squirming under Snape's touch. Noticing this, Snape dropped his hand and a slight blush rose to his cheeks. He backed away.

"I see that what I've been showing you is upsetting you. I must apologize…." Snape's gaze drifted to a far corner as he collected himself. Harry too took the moment to gather his thoughts, noticing that, once again, Snape had called him by his first name, though he hadn't at their last meeting. He found himself lacking the patience to reflect on what this might mean.

"Sir," he said, reverting to the old formalities in an attempt to bring Snape into focus. "Sir, I would like to see some more of my father. Please."

Snape looked again at Harry, squinting. He sighed.

"I don't think that's the best course of action right now, Harry. I didn't mean to upset you, I meant to comfort you—"

"You are comforting me! I want to see my father," Harry whined. Through his sleep-deprived haze he could see where this was headed and he protested. "You can't tell me you have all of these memories, and show them to me, and then just take them away, you bastard; it's not—"

"I think you misunderstand the nature of our new relationship, Potter." Snape's face was cold again. "This was never about your father. I was simply showing you—"

"Then I'm leaving," Harry said, and whirled around to find the door blocked in the same manner it had been during his first meeting with Snape.

"Listen to me. I showed you the memories to show you that I am not the beast you seem to think I am, that I can help you, if you will only let me." Snape paused, gathering his thoughts.

"You want to help me… by keeping me here against my will, listening to you drivel on in your sick nostalgia?" Harry had lost all prudence. "I am exhausted, I am hungry, I'm not even done with classes for the day. Let me out or—"

"Or what?"

Silence permeated the office. Snape pinched his nose and walked back to his desk, where he sat down, pulling the pensieve from its place under his desk.

"But we're talking after," he said, and Harry came towards him. Together, they entered the memory.

_Snape was again in his dormitory, this time pacing up and down the aisle between the two rows of bed, biting his nails with the occasional tug at his hair. Only a few seconds in, James burst into the room, his face red and streaked with dirt, his clothes and hair in wild disarray. He stopped when he saw Snape, his mouth dropping open wordlessly. Snape crossed the room quickly and encased James in his arms, pulling the boy into his chest._

_"It's okay," he whispered into his hair, rubbing small, slow circles on his back. "It's okay."_

_"No. No, no, no," James whimpered, choking on his sobs. "I can't do this. I can't do this anymore. No. I can't."_

_"Oh... It's okay. It's going to be okay. Shhh."_

_Snape led James over to his bed and they sat down._

_"It's terrible, Sev. You have no idea; no one has any idea how _terrible_ this is, how terrible everything is. Everything is falling apart, no one seems to realize the extent of the damage; everyone still thinks we can fix this, that I'm capable—"_

_"You're more than capable, James."_

_"No! No! I'm not! And if you and everyone else stopped and thought about it, you'd all see it, too, and then something could be _done_! But you won't, because it's easy for you all to just sit around in the castle, pretending that I have things under control, ignoring the reality of the whole damned situation and I… I just… I can't do this anymore." He stood again and began pacing the same path Snape had been traversing just moments earlier._

_"James," Snape said, remaining seated on the bed. "James, come here."_

_A simple command, which James followed, seemingly without thinking._

_"James. No one thinks you can do this on your own. I…" Snape paused, pushing his fingers into the mess that was James' hair. They almost looked ridiculous, but there was too much feeling in the room for absurdity to be considered. "You're strong. Stronger than me, stronger than Dumbledore even. And maybe some of them do think you're strong enough to stand on your own. And maybe it's true. But no one who loves you would put you through that. I love you. I'm with you. You can do this."_

_The expression on Snape's face conveyed absolute certainty. 'You don't know what you're talking about,' Harry thought, but realized immediately that that wasn't true. A lot of time had passed since the first memory Snape had showed him and this one, and Snape had spent that time getting to know his dad. Snape knew James better than Harry did, and the expression now on James' face told Harry that the words Snape had uttered were working._

_"I don't want to do this," James whispered, but the anger had gone out of his voice, replaced by a mixture of resignation and temptation. "I want to graduate… get a job pushing papers around the ministry…get a little house with you." He laid back on the bed and Snape laid beside him._

_"Someday. We'll get a little cottage somewhere. Get a dog, maybe. Have a little garden, a little fence." James smiled._

_"No, a big stone wall. No one will ever be able to come in."_

_Snape laughed, then sat up._

_"Here, get that stuff off and get under the blankets. You must be exhausted."_

_"If I fall asleep I'll never want to leave."_

_Snape grinned. "You don't have to. I cursed the rest; no one will be coming in until tomorrow. You can stay here tonight."_

_James looked up at Snape, his face filthy and exhausted, streaked with grime and tears but somehow cheerful looking again. "I love you, Severus."_

_"I love you, too, James."_

_They pulled off their clothes and climbed under the covers on Snape's bed, where James laid his head on Snape's lap and made a noise only one who has been uncomfortable for so long, who finds himself suddenly able to relax can make. "Wake me up if I fall asleep," he muttered, closing his eyes._

_"You need sleep."_

_"I need this more."_

Harry felt the jerk beneath his navel and found himself once again in Snape's office. It was pitch black and when, after several minutes of silence, it became apparent that Snape was not going to light any torches, Harry lifted his wand and muttered the words.

"I've kept you too late. You'll be late for class as it is. We'll talk tomorrow," Snape said, his gaze unmoving from the pensive, where the last remnants of the memory that had just watched swirled slowly, vaguely, unwilling to disperse but having no where to go.

"It's okay," Harry said, though he wasn't sure why. He'd come to see another memory; he didn't really want to talk to Snape. This memory, though, more than the others he'd seen, made him realize just what a comfort Snape had been to his father, and he wanted to repay him somehow. How in the world to repay someone for something like this, that had happened so long ago?

"No. Tomorrow. Go to class." Snape stuck is wand in the penseive, vanishing the memories, and that was that. Harry turned to go.

"Thanks, Professor," he said, pushing open the door which had been rid of its chains.

"Go to class."


End file.
